


Filling the Darkness

by TheKnittingJedi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley's pov, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, One Shot, Stargazing, Wingfic, Wings, ineffable manifestations of love, meteor showers, no beta we die like human-shaped beings, occult and ethereal creatures in love, walks on the Brighton pier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 13:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/pseuds/TheKnittingJedi
Summary: It's a rainy Monday morning and everyone Crowley meets on his way to Aziraphale's bookshop is happy and nice. Coincidence?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 133





	Filling the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saretton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saretton/gifts).

> For Saretton, a bright star: happy birthday!
> 
> _Stars, idiot husbands, Brighton and wings_  
_These are a few of your favourite things._
> 
> (I wasn't actually sure about the wings, but nothing else rhymed with "things", so here you go.)

When Crowley hopped off the Bentley and saw through the bookshop window that Aziraphale was dealing with a customer, he upgraded this Monday from an already bad day to a _ very _ bad day. He ignored the rain and hurried towards the door, hoping his presence would throw off any strange idea about buying or selling books.

But the customer — a man in his fifties, with a hat and a scarf — was already on his way out. “Do not worry at all, I understand perfectly. Thank you anyway, you were very kind. Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see you there, please, come in.” And he held the door for Crowley, who cast an outraged glance to the departing gentleman and then locked eyes with a befuddled Aziraphale.

“You? Kind? To a customer?” 

It wasn't the first time Crowley had entered the bookshop without saying hello – far from it, in fact. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind. “I have no idea why you’re implying that I’m ordinarily rude to customers.”

“Only those who want to buy something. That is to say, all of them. That’s how a business works for humans.”

Aziraphale — fussy, straight-backed, sort of cherubic, just a bit of a bastard — narrowed his eyes. “I’m very happy to see you”, he said, in a tone usually reserved for threats and curses.

Crowley went to the back room, specifically to the wine cabinet, and chose a bottle to open, making himself at home. Which was, of course, his way of saying the same. “Have you noticed people are unusually nice, these days?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale had followed him in the back room and was now holding two wine glasses he miracled out of the mess that were his main living quarters (or at least the place where he spent his time when he wasn’t at Crowley’s apartment, or eating somewhere with Crowley, or feeding the ducks together, or… In the end, it was less about the place and more about the company).

Crowley filled both glasses and put the bottle down. “I mean that it’s a rainy Monday morning, and someone just held the door open for me. Not just anyone, but a customer. And not just any customer, but an empty-handed one. And it’s not just him. I saw a lady — elegant, manager-style, you know, the screamy type —, I saw this lady getting splashed by a car, and you know what she did?” He scooted over, because, instead of his usual armchair, Aziraphale had chosen to settle down next to him on the sofa. 

“Yelled at the driver? Cursed the Heavens?”

Crowley took off his glasses and looked at him, deeply unimpressed. “She _ shrugged _.”

“No!” Aziraphale exclaimed, suitably scandalised.

“And then went on her merry way, like nothing happened!”

“That’s unusual.”

“You can say that. And I was in the area. And in a bad mood.”

Aziraphale sipped his wine and frowned. “I’m sorry, I know kindness usually spoils your mood.”  
“If you won’t stop teasing me, I’ll just go drink this by myself.” Aziraphale smiled at the empty threat and a demon’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. “I was in a bad mood _ before _. I have to leave tonight.”

The angel’s playful expression changed instantly into a worried one. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, don’t worry. I need to go south. Take care of an errand. Tonight.” Sliding down the couch, Crowley looked mournfully at the ceiling. “I really don’t want to, but it needs to be done.”

He cast a sideways glance at the angel to make sure his curiosity was piqued. And, right on cue… “You can keep your mysteries to yourself, my dear, but I would be much less worried if I could come with you.”

Concealing his satisfaction in hearing the first pieces of his plan fall into place, Crowley sighed again. “I guess you could…”

“I insist.”

“Well, then. Go ahead and cancel your plans for today. We’re going to Brighton.”

The rainy London weather had become a beautiful sunny day the more they went south. Perfect temperature, this time of year, too. Crowley had made sure of that. 

A light breeze ruffled Aziraphale’s pale curls, making the demon ache to run his fingers through them. He stuffed his hands in his pockets instead and asked: “Shall we take a walk on the pier?”

The angel lit up. “It would be lovely. And we could also have ice cream!”

“I know a place”, said Crowley, nonchalantly. He had made sure said place would be open at that hour and serving Aziraphale’s favourite flavours.

A little while later, they strolled down the pier with two ice creams, because Aziraphale’s favourite flavours were pretty much all of them and Crowley took pity on him. If the number of people on the pier was drastically lower than average, no one remarked on it. 

“I remember the storm”, said Aziraphale, out of nowhere.

Waiting for him to elaborate, Crowley turned towards him. Here he was, his angel, ice cream and bowtie and everything lovely and soft. For once, Crowley’s sunglasses were actually useful, because looking at him was a bit like looking at the sun.

_ You are embarrassing yourself _, said his inner voice, right before Crowley told it to mind its own business.

“Storms, plural”, amended Aziraphale. “This pier got destroyed time and time again. And yet they rebuilt it. They are persistent, you have to admire that. You destroy something, and they rebuild it better. You give them a vast expanse of sea, and they figure out a way to float on it. You take away everything from them, and they’ll still find a way to survive.”

“Sometimes it brings out the worst of them”, Crowley felt compelled to point out.

“Or the best. You just have to know where to look.” Aziraphale turned towards him, squinting in the bright light. “When will you have to leave?”

“Excuse me?”

“For your errand.”

“Oh, right. I’ll have to wait until it gets darker. There’s plenty of time.” 

Crowley focused on his untouched ice cream and pretended not to notice Aziraphale’s contented hum.

After dinner — which was described with a plethora of superlatives by the angel, and as “adequate” by Crowley —, they reached the Bentley, which was parked right outside the little Vietnamese restaurant.

Although he was trying to give Aziraphale his full attention, Crowley couldn’t help but notice something, or rather the absence of something. Having lived among humans for millennia, following the drudgery of their everyday lives — spicing them up with petty inconveniences, sprinkling annoyances all over them —, he knew that complaining was less than a bug and more like a feature of humankind. And yet he still had to hear one single person complain about something. Not a single one! The guy who was served the wrong dish at the restaurant ate it anyway, because – he said – he wanted to try something new. Instead of yelling at her, the manager helped the young waitress clean up the mess she made when she knocked over a tray. The crease on Crowley's forehead threatened to become permanent.

It wasn’t normal. It was bad enough when Londoners suddenly became zen. Now Little Londoners, too?

“Hop on, angel”, Crowley said, brushing his concerns aside.

Aziraphale gave him a nervous glance, but got in nonetheless. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t it be better if I waited for you to…?”

“I’m sure”, Crowley cut him off, as he started the engine. “You only have to do one thing for me.”

“Of course”, the angel said, without hesitation.

_ What have you ever done to deserve this? _ Crowley’s inner voice sounded genuinely curious. 

He ignored it. “Close your eyes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Close your eyes, _ pleassse _ .” Crowley rolled his eyes. _ Look what you make me do, angel. _“Don’t open them until I tell you to.”

“I don’t understand what…”

“Do I have to miracle a blindfold on you?”

“Oh, good Lord”, Aziraphale murmured, as though Crowley had just made a lewd suggestion. “There’s no need for that.” He closed his eyes, settling primly on his seat.

Crowley stared at him for a moment longer than necessary, then drove down the street, towards the sea. “It’s a surprise”, he said, after a while.

“Don’t ruin it, then”, Aziraphale said, drily.

Crowley sighed. “The whole trip. It was all meant to be a surprise. There was no errand.”

The angel perked up, and Crowley checked to see if his eyes were still closed. “Crowley!”

“Shut up”, he said, preemptively. “It’s not time yet. I’m taking you somewhere. That’s why you have to keep your eyes closed, or you'll spoil the surprise.”

The angel didn’t reply, but the radiant waves of happiness coming off him were enough to convey the message. It was like being bathed in warmth and sunlight. It was — and Crowley, for better or worse, found it less and less mortifying to admit it as time went by — very nice.

Crowley drove in silence. When the time came, he snapped his fingers. And then he drove some more.

“We’re here”, he said, after a while.

“Can I open my eyes, now?”

Crowley meditated for a second. “No, not yet. Wait.” Trying not to think about it too much — but he had to think about it a lot, of course, for reasons that the angel would find out very soon —, he got out, closed the door and reached the passenger’s side.

Aziraphale turned towards him when he heard the car door open, and he reached blindly. He still had his eyes closed, and Crowley was reasonably sure he kept his promise not to peek. That, or he would have made a better poker player than the demon expected.

He took his hand and helped him out. As soon as Aziraphale’s feet touched what was definitely not the ground, the angel started and opened his eyes.

Crowley had expected as much, and squeezed his hand. “It’s all right. We’re all right.”

“We’re _ at sea _”, Aziraphale gasped, opening his mouth like a fish. “Oh, Crowley…”

He looked around, taking it all in: the silent, still, dark expanse of the sea around them, the Bentley’s wheels floating effortlessly on the surface, the firmament over their heads, filled with so many stars that no other light was necessary, even if they had needed it.

Crowley waited for the novelty of the thing to wane, then asked: “Can I leave you for a moment?”

When the angel nodded, Crowley left his hand and opened the Bentley’s trunk, taking something out. “I know it’s a far cry from the Bánh xèo you had earlier. But by now you should know I’m not very good at this.”

Aziraphale’s gaze was still lingering on his surroundings and took a few seconds to settle on Crowley and the small wicker basket in his hands. “You… planned a picnic?”

Crowley looked elsewhere.

“In the middle of the English channel? For me?”

“It’s just a small miracle. And some wine and cheese. Wine should be good, I wouldn’t bet on the cheese…”

He would have gone on, droning about the underwhelming pattern of the tablecloth he chose, but his arms were suddenly full of angel, his mouth pressed against Aziraphale’s, because the angel had crossed the distance and was currently kissing him.

Right. This. This was a thing they did, now, sometimes. They would be doing it a lot more, if it were up to Crowley, if he was one-hundred-percent positive the angel truly liked it and wasn’t merely indulging him. The most recent evidence suggested the angel did, in fact, like it. He liked it enough to put his arms around Crowley’s neck and press against him, making the demon move back until he bumped into the car.

“I am very, very happy”, the angel said against his lips.

“Ngk”, answered Crowley.

“I really liked the surprise. I had a lovely afternoon and an excellent dinner, and I thoroughly look forward to our picnic.”

Straightening his glasses with his free hand, Crowley managed to remember how language worked, at least enough to say: “Not done. The surprise, I mean. There’s something else. Look up”.

Aziraphale did look up, just in time to see a couple of shooting stars cross the sky. And then a couple more. 

According to Crowley’s calculations, the meteor shower should reach its peak from ten to two, that night. That meant they had an hour to settle in and enjoy the highlight of the show, so to speak.

He was looking up, too, so he noticed the sudden glimmer with a slight delay. “What the… Angel?”

It took him some time — judging from Aziraphale’s expression, took them _ both _ some time — to understand what was happening, and where the more and more conspicuous luminescence was coming from. But it was also hard to ignore the fact that the angel’s wings were spread out, and that they glowed.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. “Oh, my.”

Crowley was staring at him. “They don’t normally do that, right?”

“Rather.” Flustered, the angel took a step back. “I have no idea what’s happening.”

Which left Crowley with the task to piece everything together. He sighed. “I think I do.” It didn't take much brainpower, really: the kindness epidemic spreading wherever the angel went was a pretty big giveaway, and the waves of — let’s call it by its name — pure love radiating from Aziraphale were frankly impossible to mistake for low blood pressure.

And now his wings were glowing. Which defeated the purpose of bringing him all the way here, far from any light pollution.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Aziraphale looked even more crestfallen. “I am so sorry, my dear, I just can't seem to put them away. Or… to turn them off.”

This was enough to make Crowley’s voice come back from its impromptu vacation. “Don't you dare”, he murmurs.

“Excuse me?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Don’t you dare try.” He finally got it. It was the love. Love was the answer, in a way. Aziraphale was so full of love he couldn’t contain it anymore, and so it overflowed, going wild into the world, making it a better place — and being a bit of an inconvenience on the way, which should have made Crowley proud, really.

He thought fast, like he usually did. Then he snapped his fingers. The checkered tablecloth disappeared from inside the basket and spread out on the surface of the sea beside the Bentley, unbothered by the swell of the waves, for all the world like an ordinary picnic blanket on good old grass.

He put the basket down and reached for Aziraphale’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the angel sat down. Then Crowley settled behind him and let his own wings spread.

“What are you… _ Oh. _”

The angel’s little, astonished _ oh _ was due to the darkness once again engulfing them. Or maybe it escaped his lips because his wings had suddenly and unexpectedly come into contact with Crowley’s, which acted as a shutter on a lantern. A dark, silky shutter, made of occult material, and attached to a demon who was the indirect cause of the biggest love wave on Earth since the summer of 1967.

The silence stretched for so long that Crowley was beginning to regret his brilliant idea. Then the angel leaned on him, pulling his own wings closer and reaching for Crowley’s, wrapping them both up in a cocoon of ethereal feathers.

As the angel settled and sighed, Crowley suddenly felt a lot better about several of his life choices. “Are you comfortable?”

“Mmmm.”

“Shall I open the wine?”  
“Give me a moment.” And then: “Well, we should let it breathe a little, don’t you think?”

Crowley snapped his fingers again. “Excellent idea, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please appreciate the fact that I outlined this in my mind over the last few days while cosplaying as Crowley _and then_ as Aziraphale. I’m nothing if not On Brand(™).  
Also, this is not beta-ed (because I wrote it last night instead of sleeping), so if you notice any horrors, please feel free to drop me a line on [Tumblr](https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com)!


End file.
